


25 Days of Ficmas

by volleydorkscentral



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-04 23:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16799197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volleydorkscentral/pseuds/volleydorkscentral
Summary: Each chapter will be a new ficlet based on holiday/winter/Christmas prompts! I'll update the tags with relationships and characters, but each fic that might have a warning or specific tag will appear in the beginning notes of individual chapter, so as not to bog down the Additional Tags section and overwhelm you guys.Update: This is on hiatus for right now, i'm sorry :( I have several other projects that are taking my creative priority and I refuse to FORCE myself to write something that I'm not 100% excited about because it won't be as good as I can make it. I'll update as I think of new prompts, but I want each fic to be as good as I can possibly make it.





	1. the dangers of sock drawers

**Author's Note:**

> First up: IwaOi - Jealousy. 
> 
> I guess the only 'warning' here would be that Tooru has horrible, mean thoughts about girls, and some swearing.

Tooru found the watch hidden in Hajime’s sock drawer. 

He wasn’t snooping, obviously, he was just looking for socks - it was, after all, a sock drawer and all his were dirty. But Hajime didn’t mate his socks so Tooru had to scrounge around to find a pair. He’d seen the small box and thought it was a secret gift for him. He picked it up, knowing he should let it be a surprise, but he wasn’t good at being patient and it was a gift for him. 

Inside he found a lovely sterling silver watch with diamonds on the face. It wasn’t exactly to his taste, a bit  _ too _ flashy, but still, if Hajime had picked it out for him then of course he’d wear it. He flipped it over to examine the engraving he felt on his fingers, and his breath caught in his chest, painful squeeze of his heart, clenching of his jaw. 

_ for my darling Akiko _

Tooru glared at the engraving, clenching his fist around the watch so tight it broke left indentations on his skin. Hajime was  _ cheating _ on him. He snarled to himself and replaced his watch, preciously as he'd found it, unsure of what exactly he was going to do about it. Wanting to punch Hajime, but not wanting to break his knuckles. Wanting to sob and cry into his chest and beg him to stay, ask what he had done wrong to drive Hajime away. 

I n the weeks leading up to Christmas, Tooru sat annoyed and grumbling every evening when they would watch television after dinner. Hajime let him alone during these  _ pouting fits _ as he called them, since usually Tooru would get tired of pouting before Hajime got bored of watching him sulk. 

But Tooru was adamant this time, and he could see the way his silence and snappish behavior grated on Hajime’s nerves. He would sigh roughly and rub his hands across his thighs, glancing over at Tooru every now and then, then huff and get up, announcing he was going for a jog or something because Tooru was  _ thinking too loud _ and it was annoying. Tooru watched him go, glaring at his back until he slammed the door, and wondering if Hajime was going to meet the bitch. 

They might be silently feuding, but Christmas was upon them, and Tooru wanted to show Hajiime just how much he loved him with the wonderful gifts he’d gotten him (before he’d found the watch, obviously) then break his fucking heart the way Hajime had broken his by explaining that he knew he was being cheated on. 

With a  _ girl _ , no less. Hajime and the girl were fucking like goddamn dogs and he was  _ pissed _ off. 

So Oikawa painstakingly wrapped the gifts he’d gotten him (every Godzilla movie ever released on DVD, a lovely shadow box of butterflies, and a new set of boxing gloves because he’d taken that up after high school) and placed them under the little tree they had set up in the corner. He would show Hajime just how much he cared for him… then he’d explain that he  _ knew _ and he wanted Hajime to move out and never speak to him again. 

Or something. He didn’t know what he wanted - just that every time he looked at Hajime now, a fire burned in his gut, so hot it burned him up inside, threatening to come pouring out his mouth like a dragon breathing fire. 

On Christmas morning, Hajime woke him up with gentle kisses, and Tooru was torn between trying to enjoy this, what would be the last time, or turn away from him because the tears were threatening to push out of his eyes. 

Hajime slid his fingers over Tooru’s cheeks, kissing him slowly, until they both groaned with desire, and Hajime pulled away, poking a finger into his cheek, “I don’t know what’s been wrong with you this week, but it’s really pissing me off.”

Oikawa glared, clicking his tongue in annoyance, “You’ve not been so nice yourself, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime raised one eyebrow, “Shitty-kawa.”

“Shut up. Get off me, will you, I’ll go get your gifts.” The sooner the better. Maybe it would hurt less if he did it now, while he was still angry. The sadness might not come for a few days.

Hajime held him down, strong hands splayed on Tooru’s chest, fingers brushing his nipples. “Not yet. I want you to open yours first. One of them, anyway.” He reached under his pillow and pulled out the box. 

_ The box. _

The one he’d seen in the sock drawer. He inhaled sharply, the green demon rearing it’s head and snarling in his chest, almost making him lash out and slap the box from Hajime’s fingers. But instead he took it, taking sharp, shallow breaths to hide the shaking of his body. “You didn’t wrap it.”

Hajime rolled his eyes, sitting cross legged beside him, “Just open it.”

Oikawa clenched his jaw, opening the box and expecting the diamond studded, over the top watch, but instead he found a simple, lovely watch: soft brown leather band and gold face with several smaller dials showing the time in minutes and seconds, one showing the date, and another dial with the elevation they were currently at. That could only be helpful when he was running, jogging up and down the mountains, but it was something he’d mentioned recently that he’d wanted. 

And Hajime had gotten it for him. The watch was clearly very expensive - probably too expensive, costing more than a month’s salary. Tooru stared at it, mouth going dry with nerves and confusion, the green demon cocking its head inside his chest. 

“What is this?” he muttered, voice barely a whisper. 

Hajime raised both eyebrows, “Are you stupid?”

“I mean,” Tooru snapped, “I don’t - “ He stopped himself, unsure what to say. His mind was stuttering around what he  _ knew _ to be fact, unable to grasp this new information. His fingers brushed the back of the face, felt an engraving there too. He turned it over to see the engraving:  _ say yes?  _

He blinked at them, confused, then looked up to see Hajime holding a separate, smaller box, open to show a shining gold ring. His lip began to quiver, his vision blurring with tears so he had to blink them away several times before he was able to see straight. “W-What?”

Hajime scooted forward, plucking the ring from the box, “I want you to marry me.”

“This…” Tooru mumbled, looking from the ring to the watch to Hajime’s face, making the circuit several times before he stuttered, “I don’t understand. I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“I thought you were,” Tooru choked on a sob in his chest, all his emotions twisting together in a tight ball and choking him, “What about the other watch?”

Hajime blinked for a moment, still holding the ring, then laughed. He laughed like a lunatic, pressing one hand to his forehead. “Oh my God, you found that?”

Tooru sat up straighter, glaring, clenching the watch to his chest, “What’s wrong with you?! It’s not funny! You’re cheating on me and you’re  _ laughing  _ about it!”

Hajime glanced at him, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, shaking his head. “I’m not cheating on you.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not,” Hajime said sharply, flipping the ring in the air like it was a coin instead of an expensive gold piece of jewelry, “Swear to god. It was a mistake.”

“Cheating was a mistake but you’re  _ done now _ ?” Tooru huffed, mind spinning out of control with everything that had happened the last two minutes. “I still won’t forgive you.”

Hajime looked angry, “No!” He snarled it now, “I didn’t cheat on you, goddammit. The jeweler made a mistake. He switched the boxes and it took me a few days to get back downtown to swap them. Stop being such a dick.”

Tooru sniffed, looking down at the watch again. “It’s nice… I really like it.”

“Great, glad you like it,” Hajime said, a bit sharply, “Now answer the real question.”

“Huh?”

Hajime gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, turning his palm over to show the ring sitting there like a declaration. “Marry me.”

Tooru looked at him, then with shaky hands reached out and took the ring from his hand. He held a gift in each hand, too stunned for words. “Uh… okay.”

Hajime snorted in derision, “Sound more happy about it.”

“I mean!” Tooru laughed, tucked the ring into his palm while he slipped the watch on his wrist, “Yes, of course. I’m just overwhelmed.”

Hajime took his hand and pulled the ring from it, “You sure? You were ready to leave me a second ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Tooru said softly, “Really. Put it on,” he held up his hand, fingers extended. 

“Bossy, bossy,” Hajime chuckled, but took his fingers gently and, with an air of finality, pressed the ring of metal onto Tooru’s finger. It was a bit big, just enough to slip over the knuckle with little resistance and Hajime pursed his lips. “Damn, I thought I got the fit right.”

“It’s fine,” Tooru smiled, “We can get it fixed.”

Hajime’s fingers brushed lovingly over Tooru’s knuckles, “I never wanted you to take it off.”

Tooru smiled at him, took his fingers away and pressed them to Hajime’s cheeks, pulling him close so he could kiss him. “I love you,” he said against his lips.

“I love you, too.” 


	2. the little things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from tumblr anon: Kageyama and autism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I'd like to say that when I got this ask I was immediately nervous, because I realized ... I don't know anyone in my adult life with autism.... mostly because I only talk to like three people in total, and I wasn't sure how to DO it because I'm not acquainted to anyone with autism(or anything on the same spectrum) that I can talk to about their life, their thoughts, or see their individuals mannerisms, experiences, personalities, etc.  
> But I wanted to take this ask, and learn about how to write characters with autism, and learn to not just write a 'stereotype.' I did days of research, read excerpts from highly rated books with POV characters with autism and also support characters, so that I wouldn't be offensive or upset anyone.  
> I hope I can convey the sincerity with which I wrote this piece, even though I'm bad with my words in author notes....  
> Thank you, anon, for giving me the opportunity to explore the characterization and learn about autism in the process. It has really opened my mind to a different way of thinking and the sensitivity with which we all should show to others, no matter who they are.

Kageyama sat in the corner of the gym, the sweat from serving practice cooling on his brow. It bothered him, the way it rolled down towards his eyes, moving along the curve of his temple and down his cheek. But it wasn’t in his eye, so it wasn’t worth it to remove his fingers from the volleyball to wipe it away. His fingers stroked the ball, the softness of it, liking the little bit of give it had when he squeezed it. He did it over and over again, timing it with his calming breaths, _squeeze_ release, _squeeze_ release, _squeeze_ release.

“Kageyama!” A voice made him snap his eyes open, searching for the source. Beside him, Hintata crouched, a huge smile on his face. Kageyama glanced away and back, Hinata’s gaze was far too intense for him to look at for long. It bothered him how Hinata could, and would, attempt to keep eye contact for so long. It made Kageyama uncomfortable, even though he tried and tried it was never enough with Hinata. He’d gotten better, with lots of work, so much so that he could have almost entire conversations before his eyes wandered to the far off corners of the room. Hinata said, too loud, _why was he so loud_ , “I got you a Christmas present!” He held out a small box wrapped with white paper, and Hinata’s scribbled handwriting in big black characters: _to my favorite setter!_

Kageyama looked at it, rubbing the volleyball firmly with his fingers, “What? I didn’t get you anything.” Did Hinata know that white was his favorite color? It was simple and easy, the color of milk and clouds and volleyballs. Things that Kageyama loved.

“That’s alright! I just saw it in a shop and thought of you,” Hinata grinned wider, teeth flashing as he cocked his head. He still held out the gift, but Kageyama’s hands refused to leave the volleyball, no matter how much his brain told them to.

“But...” Kageyama muttered, trying to find the words, “But. Hm...” He looked away, _squeezing..._ “But gifts are supposed to be exchanged. There isn’t an exchange if I didn’t get you anything.”

Hinata shrugged, “I don’t care about that. Look, I’ll just leave this here,” he set it down on the floor, pushing it towards Kageyama with a finger until it touched his leg. Kageyama flinched at the unexpected touch, and inched his leg away. “And you can open it whenever you want. I’m gonna go practice spiking with Suga now! See ya!” And he stood, turning and bounding back onto the court, waving his arms and yelling for Sugawara.

He looked down at the tiny gift, his insides squirming uncomfortably. He’d always been told that you had to give a gift back to someone when he received one. Would he have to go look for something for Hinata now? It would have to be something similar, something that Hinata would like.

His chest trembled at the thought of spending hours in shops, searching. The city was always loud, close, and overwhelming, and it always gave him a headache, which made volleyball harder, which upset him. He knew he needed to open the gift, especially because from the corner of his eye he saw Hinata glancing over excitably. He was expected to open it. He had to.

So, after much too long, he managed to pry one hand from the ball and pick up the box. It was light, barely any weight at all, the paper was crinkling under his fingers pleasantly. He liked that feeling, and it helped his other hand find the courage to join the first, as he ran all ten fingers over the paper, accidentally causing wrinkles and having to smooth them out quickly before they creased. He picked at the folded edge with his fingernail, pulling it back just a minuscule amount. He didn’t want to tear the paper, didn’t want to ruin it, not after Hinata had made it for him.

At least Hinata wasn’t staring at him, that helped. He hated it when people stared at him, he never knew what his face was doing, or what it was supposed to be doing. Sometimes, on his birthday, when his parents gave him gifts, he got so sick with frustration because he knew he was supposed to make certain faces and gestures when he opened presents, but sometimes those were hard to figure out. Joy, sure, he knew that was what was usually expected. But when he wasn’t feeling it, it was impossible to make his face contort to the smile that was expected of him. Sometimes it frustrated him so much he began to cry and he would have to leave the room to hide in his bedroom, hands curled tight around his volleyball, seeking comfort from it.

At last the pointed corner edge of the wrapping paper came up, and he smoothed it upwards, then opened the other three corners so the box inside was exposed. It took several minutes, but he repeated the process on the other side, then allowed his finger to follow the broken line of wrapping paper to where it was taped down in the middle. He pushed his finger under it, slowly, carefully, nervously, until it popped off without tearing the paper. He pulled the paper off, carefully folding it piece by piece, until it was a small square with Hinata’s writing carefully centered on the top. Turning his attention to the box, he shuffled the top off and frowned at the little toy inside.

It was a tiny cow key-chain. He picked it up, and noticed he could squeeze it, which he did, and a big tongue uncurled from it and puffed up with air. When he released it, the tongue rolled up and tucked itself into the cow’s ludicrously open mouth. He laughed, and did it again, liking the little _puph_ sound it made as it filled with air. He squeezed it many times, until his face hurt from smiling, then carefully replaced it in the box and stood, holding the box and the wrapping in one hand and the volleyball against his hip as he walked to the edge of the court. He waited, watching Hinata and Suga practice their synchronization, and thought he needed to remind Hinata to jump with all his foot on the ground instead of just the balls of his feet, then Hinata noticed him and ducked under the net to come over and stand smiling at him.

“Did you like it?” Hinata beamed, taking long, deep breaths after his exercise.

Kageyama glanced at him, but noticed a drop of sweat hanging from his hairline, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. “I really like cows.”

“I know!” Hinata beamed, hands on his hips, laughing, “I saw it in the shop and thought of you and got it on a whim.”

“What do you want from me?”

Hinata blinked, then shrugged, “I dunno. Nothin’, I guess. We didn’t talk about giving each other gifts before so I guess it was kinda unexpected. Sorry about that.” He scrubbed a hand through his mop of brilliantly colored orange hair, dislodging the drop of sweat. Kageyama watched it inch it’s way down his nose until Hinata wiped his face with the collar of his shirt, “So, really,” he was saying, “You don’t have to get me anything. But my birthday is in June if it really bothers you, though.”

Kageyama nodded, “Alright. Thank you,” he paused, his tongue twisting as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to say. “Thank you,” was all he managed.

“You’re welcome,” Hinata beamed, “Go put it in the club room so we can practice spikes, okay?”

Volleyball was something he could do, over and over, never tiring of. Kageyama grinned, “Alright. You need to work on your bunny hops.”

Hinata turned away from him, waving over his shoulder, “Hurry up and I _will._ ”


	3. under the weight of blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t just a tickle in his throat, it wasn’t just pain in his lungs. Akaashi knew what it was, even as he choked on it. It was death, coming to meet him. It was this: a single blue petal, touched with droplets of stark crimson blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all thanks to @yikescaninot. They were the one that introduced me to the hanahaki au and I immediately wrote this. BokuAka is the main ship, with mentions of KonoAka 
> 
> Actual warnings for this fic:  
> Major Character Death! Seriously, it's very sad, possibly it could be considered suicide, depending on how you see death from the disease. Also (minor) depictions of a corpse, but it's not very graphic. Lots of angst. Unrequited Love. Choking on Flowers, Vomiting, Depression.
> 
> If you can handle all that, read on, and good luck.

It had taken a few years, but Akaashi was beginning to think that he really needed to do something about this whole flower thing. The first time he had gasped and coughed up a foreign object, tiny seedlings filling his palm, it had been only a few months after he had met  _ him. _

Akaashi had planted them, because he didn’t know what else to do. They had bloomed into a flower that didn’t exist, at least not that he could find online. It was blue, dark in the center and fading to a pale sky color at the edges of the bloom. The petals were wide and lovely, curling gently around each other en masse, then falling apart as they withered, several days later. 

He loved them. 

They were a beautiful, deadly, poison. A time stamp on his life if he wasn’t careful. 

Months later, Bokuto had what he called  _ his moment _ during a volleyball game and turned around to sweep Akaashi into his arms and scream his joy so loud it left Akaashi’s ears ringing and his head spinning. Bokuto arms were big and strong and held him with ease and it made his chest tight, the seedlings taking root so decidedly he actually felt it happen: a tiny prick of pain, the sudden gasp as his heart gave a sideways throb. 

When he began to cough later that night, as the steam from his shower dislodged them from his throat, he found little seeds with tiny green stems poking through the hard shell. He stared at them, the echo of his breath loud in his ears, wondering what this would lead to. Maybe it would go away. Maybe not. He knew what it meant, of course, but he didn’t want to face it just yet. Maybe it was just…a phase. 

* * *

When the petals arrived, they had just won the Spring High National Tournament. On the bus ride home, Bokuto chatted excitedly about everything and nothing, about every play they’d made in the tournament, and watched the recordings of their games he’d downloaded onto his phone - over and over and over again. 

Akaashi felt the scratching as it made its way up his throat, at first just a sensation of _wrongness_ deep in his chest, then as a sharp prick moving up his esophagus. He swallowed each cough that forced its way up his throat, drowned them in water as they bloomed, and only afterwards did he consider that maybe he shouldn’t give water to flowers when he was trying to kill them. 

That night when he was awoken from sleep with coughing fits, he stumbled to the bathroom, slapping on the shower to drown the sounds of himself retching up bile mixed with blood and seeds, thorns pricking his tongue as they fell out, until the blue petals fell, crumpled and stained with blood. 

He clenched the petals in his fist, hands shaking, spitting blood into the sink. He rinsed his mouth out, flooding his taste buds with iron and copper, and spat blood until the taste was gone. He grabbed the petals from the counter and flung them out the window, silently watching them float away on the breeze. 

Bokuto and the other third years graduated, Akaashi ascended to his captaincy, and several weeks went by with no coughing, no raw throat and hoarse voice, no pain in his abdomen. But when he got home from practice one day, he saw the gold medal from their National Championship hanging from a plague on his wall, and he was reminded of Bokuto’s absence. He missed the boisterous, loud ex-captain and his antics. Missed the way he would smile when he saw Akaashi and say, “Hey, hey, hey, ‘kaashi! Set for me?!” and bounce around Akaashi, spinning a volleyball on his finger until Akaashi acknowledged him and promised to set to him all through practice, just like always. 

He missed watching Bokuto play, the way he would hang in the air just before a spike, eyes bright with the joy of the game. The muscles of his arms as he sent the ball flying to the other side of the court, and the  _ sound _ it made when it smashed to the floor that always sent a warm shiver down Akaashi’s spine. He wanted to hear Bokuto’s cheer and his immediate reaction to turn and sweep Akaashi into a hug and tell him, “That last set was perfect! Do it again, okay?” with the biggest smile on his face, so bright it could give life to small creatures. 

As the memories flooded his brain, the flowers bloomed in his chest. It hurt his stomach, as if the roots were wrapping up his entire body, not simply his respiratory system. He was struck with a coughing fit, doubling over as pain wracked his body, spots darkening his vision when he couldn’t inhale enough oxygen, until a whole handful of petals tumbled into his fingers. 

“Shit,” he said to them, crushing them in his fist.

* * *

The years went by, Akaashi graduated high school with high marks, and got into Tokyo University without too much trouble, trying to move on with his life and hope the flowers would stop coming. They weren’t a hassle anymore, since thoughts of Bokuto were few and far between, so they were only a problem when he saw Bokuto traipsing around on television, winning games for Japan’s National Volleyball team. 

Akaashi would lock himself in his room and watch these games with rapture, crying every time Bokuto scored because he was so  _ god damn beautiful _ . The roots of the flowers cut his heart in half and stole his breath away as he sobbed, then choked, and vomited into his hands full blown flowers, spreading their petals wide with longing. 

“Fuck,” he said to himself, crushing them and tossing the broken bits into the trash. 

He made an appointment with a doctor to get examined, to see how long he could live like this, and if there was anything to be done. 

It was worse than he’d thought. The film the doctor showed him of his insides was alight with blossoms, the roots of the flowers embedded into the tissue of his lungs, clawing into the ventricles of his heart, and spiraling up his rib cage. Blooms pressed against his bones, thorns scraping painfully when he took too deep a breath. 

“I’m sorry,” the doctor told him, “You’ve waited too long. The surgery would kill you if we tried to take them out. They’re a part of you now.”

Akaashi sat stiff in the seat, hands clutched in his lap, “But I… I haven’t even seen him in years.”

The doctor shrugged, giving him a sad smile, “As they say… distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

Akaashi scowled, glaring out the window at the snow as it fell in sheets and blanketed the world in white. “How long do I have, then?”

The doctor tapped her pen against the film thoughtfully, “It’s always hard to tell… but… not long, I’m afraid.”

“Will I see New Years?” It wasn’t yet Christmas, but he had noticed how quickly the flowers had begun to throttle his breathing when he’d left Fukurodani and came to university. Distance and time, it seemed, were not good for unrequited love. 

The doctor leaned forward, giving him her fondest, most apologetic look, “I’m not sure. I would be surprised if you saw spring, though. That is, if you don’t do anything about this.”

Akaashi shot her a surprised look, “You said the surgery would kill me.”

“That’s not your only option,” she said, encouraging. “Have you told him?”

Akaashi’s breath hitched in his chest, and even though he knew the exact placement of the flowers that suffocated him, it didn’t stop the coughing fit that overtook him. He hacked up half a flower in the subsequent minutes, as the doctor came around her desk and rubbed his shoulder, encouraging him to breathe even as the roots stabbed holes in his lungs. 

“I can’t,” Akaashi gasped as he finally sat up, rubbing a hand across his aching ribs and trying to breathe, “He’s long gone.”

* * *

Christmas loomed bright and bold over the horizon, but Akaashi didn’t go home for the holiday. He spent it tucked in his blanket sipping cocoa and flipping through Bokuto’s social media until his eyes burned and tears splashed on the screen. 

Bokuto had gotten engaged for the holidays. The pictures of him laughing, smiling, happy, and kissing a tall, beautiful blonde girl that smiled at him the way Akaashi thought he used to smile at Bokuto. 

His breath came in painful gasps, rattling in his chest, hacking up flower after flower, blood coming in chunks as his lungs began to fall apart. He was dying. 

He called Konoha Akinori. They had gotten along well, had kept up a easy conversation throughout the years so he was the closest thing Akaashi had to a friend these days.

“Are you still in Tokyo?” Akaashi asked over the phone. 

“Yeah, of course. Why, want to get lunch or something?” 

“No… I just need you to call the police for me.”

Konoha gasped, “Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Yes…” Akaashi whispered, as petals eased their way into his mouth, “I’m dying. I don’t think… I’ll wake up tomorrow.”

Konoha was silent for a long moment, “What… what are you talking about?” His voice was sharp and he was clearly trying to suppress his anger and his confusion.

“It’s nothing,” Akaashi said gently, “Really. I’ve known for a long time…”

“Keiji!”

“I’ve got flower in my heart, Akinori, there’s nothing to be done.”

Konoha breathed gently on the other side of the phone line, unable to think of what to say. “How long have you known? Is there… anything -”

“No.”

“Can’t you cure it by telling … telling them?”

“They won’t care. I’m just a memory and they’re happy now. I don’t want to ruin their happiness,” Akaashi told him, then coughed again, having to set aside the phone and throw up again. Instead of petals and droplets of blood, there came up thorns and flowers and a small rivulet of blood that soaked into his fingers and stained the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi wheezed into the phone, “Really, I wish it wasn’t you that I had to call. I just don’t want…” He spat into his hand, blue petals saturated with more color than before, “Don’t let my family see my body, okay?”

Konoha didn’t answer him for a long moment, then he muttered, “I promise. But… you have to tell me… it’s not me, is it? If I’m the reason -”

“No, no,” Akaashi cut him off, “It’s not.”

“Will you tell me…?”

Akaashi didn’t want to, as he hadn’t been able to speak his name since high school, he wasn’t even sure he could actually get it out of his mouth. But Konoha had been a good friend, had put up with him for so long. He waited patiently while Akaashi gathered his courage and his oxygen, and finally whispered, “It’s… Koutarou.”

Somehow, using his first name was better and worse. Better because he’d never said it in his life, worse because of the exact same reason. It _tingled_ on his tongue. 

Konoha inhaled sharply, then said too loud, “I knew it!” He seemed to realize the crass in this statement and said hurriedly, “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have -”

“It’s fine. Just… call the police in the morning if I don’t text you. Alright?”

“Okay…”

They were silent for a long time after that, neither willing to hang up and end their conversation… because they both knew that it would be the last one Akaashi would ever have. 

“For what it’s worth…I love you, y’know? You’re one of my best friends.”

Akaashi smiled, wiping his mouth and coming away with blood streaked fingers, “You too, Akinori. I’m going to hang up now.”

Konoha whispered, “You’re alright, then?”

“Yes.”

“Good bye, Keiji.”

“Good bye, Konoha.” 

Akaashi hung up, set his phone aside, and pressed a hand to his side where thorns pressed through the spaces of his ribs, droplets of blood oozing out of the holes. It hurt, more than he thought it would... dying. Taking in a full breath was impossible now as he laid on his back, wondering which would hurt worse, suffocating on the blossom in his throat or drowning in his own blood. 

He took up his phone again and opened Instagram, found Bokuto’s profile and stared at his face until his coughs rendered him helpless, he couldn’t draw in any air, and his vision went dark. 

* * *

Konoha didn’t call the police. 

Not at first. 

When he didn’t receive a text in the morning his heart was heavy as he took the train across the city. He fiddled with his phone, picking at the edge of the cracked screen protector with his fingernail. He knew what he’d find, of course, but he knew he wouldn't believe it unless he saw with his own eyes. Said his own goodbye.

Akaashi had left the door unlocked, so Konoha simply walked in and found him laid out on the couch, one arm dangling to the floor, his entire chest cavity blown open by flowers the color of silent whispers and the spaces between the clouds, of the sea and the icy wind that blew through the bare branches of the trees. They were bigger than Konoha thought they would be, but it made sense that they would be the size of the heart. 

Thorns wrapped around his torso, scraping bloodless lines into his pale flesh. Blood caked around his nose and mouth, dark brown where it had oxidized, a single petal poking out of the side of his mouth. Konoha wanted to clean him up, to pull the thorns from his ribs, clip the flowers and breathe oxygen back into his friend. 

Instead, he reached down and brushed his fingers across Akaashi’s cheek, shivering at the cold stiffness of his flesh, the glossiness of his once warm eyes. “I’m sorry,” Konoha whispered, “I wish I had been able to help you.”

He cleared his throat, reached a hand into his mouth and plucked from it the small petal of a tulip the exact color of Akaashi’s eyes. He stared at it, his own heart breaking in half, then kept on breaking as he placed the petal on Akaashi’s cheek, gentle as a kiss. He stepped out of the apartment, closing the door and leaning on it.

Konoha clamped a hand over his mouth, the taste of the petals still in his mouth, the memory of their soft, velvety texture still between his fingers. He clenched his eyes shut, moaning at the thought that he’d never see Akaashi again, or hear his voice, or make him laugh. His knees gave out, his entire body trembling, and he collapsed to the ground, knocking his head back against the wood of the door and a sob bursting from his throat.

Now he would have to have the surgery after all, since he wasn’t brave enough to confess to him until it was far, far too late and Akaashi would never love him back. 


	4. cookies for santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouyou and Natsu make cookies for Santa!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _love_ the Hinata siblings. They're so precious.

Shouyou and Natsu stood leaning over two golden yellow sticks of butter. 

“Is it done?” Natsu asked, voice a soft whisper of awe.

“I dunno,” Shouyou replied, unsure. He glanced at the recipe: “It says soft so… I think they're soft?” He poked a finger against the butter, his finger leaving a soft indention. “Yeah, I think they’re good!”

Natsu beamed, standing on her toes and leaning on the counter, “So we can make cookies now?”

“Yup,” Hinata dropped the butter into the mixing bowl, “Now, remember how I showed you to measure the other stuff? We gotta do all that.”

Natsu bounced on her little toes, hopping just a bit so that Shouyou reached over and took an easy handful of her fluffy Christmas sweater so that she didn’t slip in her socks and fall off the chair she was standing on to see over the counter. “Gimme, gimme, gimme,” she reached little hands to the containers of sugar. 

He pushed them to her, getting the dry measuring scoops from a drawer and finding the right one and handing it to her before he opened the box with the shifting, sweet smelling white sugar. “Don’t spill it, okay?”

“’kay!” She pulled the bucket towards her, reaching the scoop in, almost dumping the entire thing on herself in the process. Shouyou held it firmly by the base so she didn’t spill it everywhere, then slid it away when she had a full scoop. 

“Good job, put it in here,” he moved the bowl with the butter over and smiled as she very carefully tilted the scoop into the bowl, more careful with this than with the whole container of sugar. “Next the brown, same scoop, but you gotta punch it down.” 

She dug the scoop in the brown sugar like a shovel, then giggled as she pressed her fingers to the soft, sticky granules, pressing it into the scoop tightly. “Ah, it feels wet.”

“It’s not,” Shouyou promised her, reaching in to help until she batted his fingers away. 

“I can do it!” she told him sternly, then pushed all the extra sugar off and held it up in triumph, “See?”

He laughed and held out the bowl for her to dump it in with the butter and white sugar, “I see, I see. Sorry, please forgive me?” He glanced at his tablet, reading over the recipe again, “Okay, now we gotta do the flour. Why don’t you let me do that one?” He looked over to see her pouting and he had to laugh aloud, “Gosh, sorry. Guess you wanna do that bit, too?”

“Yeah! It’s the most important part.”

Turns out, every ingredient was the most important part. She wanted to do  _ each _ ingredient, and she took her job as cookie maker seriously, so it took longer than it should have to get every ingredient measured out and dumped into a bowl. He didn’t let her touch the electric mixer, just in case, even held both her her exploratory hands in one of his own as he ran it at high speeds to cream butter and sugar together. She  _ loved _ cracking the eggs into a bowl and beating them with a fork, so much so that he had to secretly pick egg shells out of them when he asked her to go find the vanilla extract in the pantry (which he hid in his pocket until he  _ miraculously  _ found it after getting all the shells out.)

He turned the mixer off completely so she could add the dry ingredients and then let her watch as the dough formed into a thick, fat, moist looking golden brown ball. After he turned it off he lifted her up under her arms so she could stick her nose close over the bowl and inhale sharply, sniffing the dough. 

“It smells so  _ goood,  _ Shouyou,” she said, practically salivating and giggling with excitement, “You think Santa will like them?” She looked back at him, eyes wide with a sudden worry.

“Of course,” Shouyou patted her head, beaming, then reached over and picked up the bag of chocolate chunks, “And if he doesn’t, it just means more for  _ us! _ ” He opened the bag and popped a piece of chocolate in his mouth.

She scolded, “Stop that, you can’t eat it.”

A smile spread on his face, “I can’t?” He ate another chunk, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp of horror from her.

“Brother!” She reached for him, for the chocolate, but he pulled away from her.

“Na-uh,” he said, trying not to laugh as he ate another piece, “I think I’ll just eat all the chocolate. It’s really tasty.”

Natsu grabbed fistfuls of his sweatshirt, tugging insistently, “Shouyou if you eat all Santa’s cookies he won’t leave presents!”

“I’m not eating the cookies, I’m eating the chocolate,” Shouyou grinned, popping several pieces of chocolate into his mouth in quick succession, until Natsu shrieked in aggravation and folded her arms tightly over her little chest. She puffed her cheeks out, sucked in her breath, and  _ waited.  _

She was a master at getting her own way when she really, really wanted it, and employed the tactic of holding her breath until she got it. She didn’t do it often, but when she did she’d been known to actually pass out before giving up. She and her brother shared the  _ I don’t want to lose _ gene. They stared each other down, Shouyou’s eyebrows raising slowly as he grinned down at his sister and Natsu’s eyebrows steadily went down as she tried to out wait him. 

When her cheeks were a bright cherry red Shouyou finally laughed and handed her the bag, “Alright, alright, you win.”

Her breath came puffing out in a loud gasp and she snatched the chocolate from his hands, “Thank you!” But she said it more like  _ jerk _ .

“Here, use this,” Shouyou handed her a scoop. 

Natsu frowned at him, then, without breaking eye contact, poured the entire bag into the dough. Shouyou barked out a laugh and ruffled her hair, “I like the way you think.” He turned on the mixer, having to hold it down as it tried to buck off the counter with the addition of so many solid objects. After all the chocolate was mixed in they spent a few minutes scooping and rolling dough balls, then carefully placing them on a baking sheet. Natsu was almost obsessive compulsive about how the dough was placed, they had to be the exact same distance apart and the exact same size. 

Shouyou wanted to just dump the entire bowl of dough into the pan. 

When they had them all laid out in neat rows Shouyou hoisted his sister off the chair and set her away from the oven door, then held a finger up to her in a  _ stay here _ motion. She nodded her head wildly, her hair flopping around her face. He slipped the cookie pan into the hot oven and set the timer, turning to her with his hands on his hips, “Okay, you’ve got eleven minutes to wait. Then, we have to test one,” he winked at her and she giggled. “Go on now, get ready for bed.” 

After she had scampered off to put on her pajamas he went to their mother’s room and knocked lightly, “Mom?”

There was a quiet moment where he heard the rustling of wrapping paper, “Come in.”

Inside her bedroom it was an explosion of colorful wrapping paper, and his mother sat in the middle of it taping down a piece of folded paper over a small box. He leaned against the door frame, keeping the door halfway closed in case Natsu decided to run past. “Cookies are in. She’s changing now and then I’ll put her to bed after we put the cookies out.”

His mother smiled at him, “Thank you, that’s a big help.”

“No problem. Do you need any help?”

“No, no. You need your sleep, too.”

He laughed, “What, if I don’t go to bed Santa will only bring Natsu gifts?” 

His mother winked at him, “Something like that. Go on, now. And no volleyball tonight, it’s freezing outside.”

“Mhm….” he sighed, because of course he had planned on practicing his solo skills once Natsu had gone to bed. 

“I mean it, Shouyou,” his mother said sternly, “I won’t have you catching a cold on Christmas.”

“Yes, m’am,” he muttered. Stepping out of the room, he closed the door and, going back to the kitchen, he took the cookies out of the oven. He wanted to eat one right now, but when he reached down to take one the pan burned his fingers and he jerked away, sucking on his finger to cool the burn. He snapped a picture of them and sent it to Kageyama, saying:  _ haha jokes on u I got cookies _

Kageyama answered a few moments later:  _ your gng to get fat dmbass _

Shouyou plucked a cookie from the sheet, not caring that his fingers got burnt and it fell apart as he ate half of it in one go. He replied one handed to Kageyama:  _ my sis put in lotss of choclate. wna meet up day after tmrw for spiking? _

_ yes _

Shouyou frowned at his phone, licking the wet butter and caramel of cooked sugar off his fingers. Kageyama wasn’t a good texter… he never held a whole conversation. Kenma wasn’t much better, either. He still sent a picture to him just to make him jealous. 

“Are they done, are they done?” Natsu came bounding out of her room and barreling into the kitchen, sliding in on her favorite reindeer footie pajamas. He scooped her into his arms and tugged the hood over her head. It had stuffed antlers on it and honestly he wished he had pajamas like this. 

“Yeah, you want to test one?” 

Natsu nodded vigorously, so Shouyou picked her a cookie from the hot pan and held it up to her. She took a bite and gasped, holding her mouth with her fingers and saying through a mouthful of cookie, “Santa gonna love these,” with a childlike smile of wonder on her face. 

“I think so too,” he grinned back at her. He set her on her feet and slid each of the cookies on a plate, “Go get some milk, yeah?”

“Okay, okay, okay!” She scrambled to the refrigerator and very carefully pulled the milk out, supporting the litre-sized jug against her chest and waddling to the kitchen table. 

“Thank you,” Shouyou took it and helped Natsu pour a glass for Santa and they took both the plate and the cup to the living room and set it on the coffee table. “You think he’ll find them here?”

Natsu considered this very carefully, little hands on her hips, face squinting up as she thought. “I wanna make a sign!”

So they made a sign. Shouyou provided thick paper from their mother’s office that, when folded correctly, would stand up on it’s own. Natsu, her tongue poking out in concentration, drew in large bubble letters:  _ SANTA HER ARE YUR COOKES! _

He didn’t correct her spelling, only laughed to himself as he doodled, poorly, pieces of holly and mistletoe. He drew the head of a reindeer in the corner and a snowman at the bottom and, by the end of it, he thought they had a pretty decent sign ready. He knew that his mom would want to keep it so he said, “Why don’t you sign your name?”

“You gotta too, brother!”

“Okay, you first. There ya go. And now we fold it,” he folded the paper several times, then set it up beside the plate and cup, “And now there’s no way he can miss it!”

Natsu beamed, then, with a huge yawn, leaned her head against his shoulder, “Can we stay up to see him?”

Shouyou stood and held her against his chest, “If we try to see him he’ll never come. You have to be asleep.”

“How does he  _ know? _ ” She closed her eyes, leaning against him. 

“ _ He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake _ ,” Shouyou sang softly as he took Natsu to her room. He lay down on her bed, tucking her under her flowery duvet, and continued to hum to her, lullabies he remembered their mom singing when he was little, until she was fast asleep, breathing long and slow and deep. He waited, scrolling through his phone silently until he was sure she was fast asleep, then crept out of the room and closed the door softly behind him. He went back to their mother’s room and knocked before poking his head in, “She’s asleep. You’re good. Need any help?”

She sat on her bed, phone tucked against her ear, probably talking to his father, who really should be home soon. “If you want to take those out you can,” she pointed to the gifts stacked in one corner of the room then flicked her attention back to the phone, “Mhm-hmm. You’ll be home soon? Good.”

Shouyou carried the pile of gifts to the tree and stacked them up as best he could, knowing that his mother would rearrange them before morning, but wanting for her to have to do as little as possible. She worked hard all the time, she always had extra meals made for him for before and after practice, she kept his uniform washed, she took care of the house, she worked her own job, too. He always looked up to her and wanted to make her life as easy as possible. 

When he was satisfied with the arrangement he tiptoed towards the back door, scooping his volleyball up from the floor. But just as he slid the door open his mother stepped out of her room. 

“Shouyou!”

He flinched, turning sheepishly back to her, “Come on, just five minutes?”

“You know very well you won’t just be out there five minutes,” she said it sternly, but the smile she tried to hide showed she wasn’t really mad. “Go to bed. It’s late. Natsu shouldn’t have been up this late, either, to be honest.”

“Do you want me to clean the kitchen first?”

“No,” she waved a hand, “I’ve got it, but thank you. Go to sleep, now.”

“Alright. Night, mom.” 

But before he went back to his room he sneaked back to the living room to take a few cookies. He left one with a big bite out of it and he even drank half the milk from the glass. After all, Natsu would be disappointed if Santa didn’t eat them. 


	5. all around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon request from Tumblr: Karasuno and Secret Santa!

The whole Karasuno team sat around in a large circle and Suga moved among them, holding a fluffy red Christmas hat upside down and letting each boy reach in and take a small folded piece of paper from it. 

“Aha!” Nishinoya shouted with glee as he opened his piece, “I got you, Ryuu!”

Suga frowned, “You’re not supposed to say,” he reminded Noya for the  _ fifth time _ , “Put it back.”

Noya pouted, “But I know the perfect gift for him…”

Suga shook the bag insistently until Noya huffed and dropped it back inside. He dug around for a moment before pulling out another piece triumphantly. “Don’t -”

“I got Hinata!”

“Dammit, Noya.”

Everyone laughed, except Tsukishima who looked bored with the proceedings as usual. As if he couldn’t be bothered. But he held his piece of paper carefully, glancing over the words written there again and again, reading the answers to the small questionnaire they had all filled out. It was clear that Tsukishima was memorizing the answers and planning out his gift. 

Suga took the paper from Noya’s fingers and plucked another from the hat, “Noya, if you say who you got one more time I’m kicking you out.” He never would, of course not, but Noya sat properly chastised and didn’t read his  _ aloud _ this time. 

After the rest of the papers were passed out, Suga took the last one and plopped the hat on his head. “Did anyone get themselves?” Everyone shook their heads so he continued, “Alright. Remember don’t spend any more than two thousand yen and bring your gifts to the Club Christmas party next Saturday.”

Everyone nodded their agreement, then Daichi told everyone to set their papers aside with their things so they could get practice in for the day.

* * *

And so, next Saturday, they all gathered together in the gym, forming a lazy almost circle on the stage. “Do we just give it to him?” Noya asked, holding a badly wrapped box in his hands. 

Suga shrugged, sitting cross legged beside Daichi and still sporting his red Christmas hat. “I guess so?”

Noya thrust the package at him, “I got you!”

Suga laughed, looking suddenly nervous. “Is it poisonous?”

“Not unless you want it to be,” Noya said, all serious. 

Everyone stared at him, and Tanaka let out a short, nervous laugh. “Bro, you didn’t really poison it did you?”

“What? No, of course not!” Noya huffed, then waved his arms, “Open it, open it.”

Glancing around, color began to rise in Suga’s cheeks, “Everyone else trade first, I can’t be the only one.” He reached behind him and pushed a box towards Hinata, “Here, I hope you like it.”

Gifts were handed around, boxes and bags and lumpy wrapped soft things. It was clear that some people didn’t know how to wrap gifts very well. 

“Oh cool!” Hinata exclaimed, holding up a box and reading the back with, with anyone other than Hinata, would be considered exaggerated enthusiasm. 

Daichi leaned to Suga, “What is it?”

Suga beamed, “Portable protein shake mixer.”

“Oh damn. Now, why’d you do that? Now he’ll never go home.”

Asahi, practically shaking in his nerves, handed a rather large green bag to Kiyoko, “Hey… I,” he swallowed, the way she was looking at him made him glance away nervously (and he saw that Noya and Tanaka were  _ staring _ at him). “I drew your name so…”

She smiled at him, taking it from his fingers gently, “Thank you, Asahi,” her voice was so soft and sweet he had to nod several times to get all the words in his brain. She had already given Tanaka his gift from her, so she pulled the silvery paper from the bag and reached inside. Asahi fidgeted with his hands, his heart in his throat with nerves. The gift she unfolded was a thick, chunky black knitted cardigan with the words “Fly” emblazoned on the back in bold orange kanji. Her eyes lit up and she blushed, then lifted the shirt to her face and rubbed it against her cheek. 

Everyone was staring at her, some slack jawed with wonder. 

“Oh, Azumane, this is so thoughtful, thank you so much.” She shrugged off her black manager jacket and held out her glasses for him to hold (which he did with a flat palmed fear that he would drop them) while she pulled it over her head. It fit wonderfully, and she wrapped her arms around herself and laughed, “It’s so soft.” She took her glasses back from him, “Really, I’ll wear it every day I can.”

Asahi grinned, his chest filling with joy at the smile on her face, “You’re welcome, Kiyoko!”

Tsukishima had, in this time, carefully unwrapped the box he had been given. He looked amused and horrified at the gift and turned to Yamaguchi, “Really?”

Yamaguchi grinned, “Sorry, Tsukki, but I know you like dinosaurs.”

“But I know how to use chopsticks.”

“Wait, look, theses are cool,” Yamaguchi pulled them from the box and clicked them together, and the head of the T-Rex that held them together opened menacingly. “See?” 

Tsukishima shook his head, but he smiled a small smile, “Yeah, cute.”

“Oh my god,” Suga exclaimed when he had opened his gift, laughing like a madman and holding a Nerf Crossbow with tiny little suction cup missiles. 

Noya looked up from the Make Your Own Popsicle kit that Ennoshita had given him, “Do you love it?!”

Suga  _ giggled _ , pulling the tape off the box, taking the toy out and twisting the ties off.

Beside him Daichi frowned, “Suga don- ack!”

Suga had shot him in the shoulder with one of the little darts. Daichi clutched at his shoulder in mock pain and collapsed in dramatic death throes. 

Tanaka let out a gasp as Kiyoko came over to him, still bundled in her sweater, and handed him a small package wrapped in neat, crisp lines. He took it with both hands, tears practically in his eyes, “Kiyoko! Thank you!!”

She nodded to him, “It’s something I think you will spend a lot of time on.”

Tanaka pulled the paper off with reverence, and then stared at the small square in his hands.

Kiyoko giggled, “It’s a Rubix Cube. I went ahead and shuffled it for you.”

He looked shocked, twisting the pieces around, “Ohhhh I’ve never been able to do one of these.”

“I believe in you, Tanaka.”

His eyes widened, his chest puffed out as he inhaled, “Then I’ll solve it!!! Just for you!” And he ducked his head, engrossed in his gift, twisting the cube this way and that as his tongue crept between his teeth with concentration. 

On the other side of the stage, the other first years were enamored with their gifts as well. Tsukishima was leaning over the gift Kinoshita had given Yamaguchi, all three of them nearly knocking heads as they stared at the tiny screen of the keychain gaming system. It was no bigger than Yamaguchi’s hands, his thumbs were almost too big for the buttons, but it has a non copyrighted Super Mario Land on it and Yamaguchi was so engrossed in it, already on level three. 

Kageyama hesitated, but tapped Kinoshita on the shoulder, then handed him a bag when he looked at him. “Here.”

Kinoshita smiled, “You sound so happy.”

Kageyama blushed, his hand clutched around a Magic 8 Ball that Narita had given him, “I just didn’t know what to get you…”

“I’m sure it’s great,” Kinoshita assured him, then pulled out the large, floppy book from the bag. He stared at it, then burst out laughing, “Look at  _ that! _ ” He snorted, amused, holding it up high over his head, “Daichi! Daichi look!”

Daichi looked over, squinting to read the words, then shook his head with a smile. “Funny.”

“I love it,” Kinoshita said, suppressing a laugh, at the book:  _ Go F*CK Yourself, a Coloring Book _ . “Oh shit it even has perforations.”

Kageyama laughed softly, obviously relieved, “You can give them out.”

“I sure will!”

Yachi stood squirming at the edge of the group, wringing her hands around the little box she held. Hinata looked up at her, sensing her nervousness. “Hey! Who’d you get?” She hesitated, blushing, so he leaned close and read the name she had neatly printed on the tag. He turned his head and called, “Asahi-san!”

Asahi looked up from laughing with Daichi. Nishinoya had given him a black T-shirt with large white letters in the center:  _ This is Your Secret Santa Gift  _ and everyone was having a right good laugh over it as Daichi pulled it on, looking like a walking dad-joke. “Yeah?”

Hinata pointed, “Yachan has a gift for you.”

“Oh,” Assahi smiled, but his cheeks flushed a bit, too. He knew the girl was nervous around him, and it made  _ him  _ nervous but he couldn’t show it. He was the upperclassmen, dammit. He walked over to her, putting on his best smile as she held out the box for him.

“I-I,” she glanced away, swallowing, her tiny hands shaking, “I hope you like it… it looked like fun to me. So I thought that maybe you’d like it.” She made a face, looking a bit pale, “Oh gosh but if you don’t I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I - “

Asahi held up his hands in a  _ there, there _ motion, “It’s okay, really, I promise,” he laughed, felt it catch with his nerves and wanted to smack himself. Instead he opened the wrapping on the box and smiled fondly at the little game inside, “Oh, I used to have this as a kid. I loved this game.”

Her eyes lit up with glee, “Really?”

“Mhm-hmm, I was good at it too.” He took the miniature Simon Says game out of the box and pulled the tab that kept the batteries from touching and the game lit up with blue, green, yellow, and red lights blinking rapidly. “Do you want to play with me, Yachan?” He started a game and held it out to her.

She smiled, taking it from him, “Sure-”

“Wait,” Tsukishima said in his low, cool tone. “Here, open this from me first.”

“Oh!” Yachi blinked, blushing at the way Tsukishima looked at her, looking bored but also…nervous. “You drew me, Tsukishima?” Asahi smiled between them, then sat cross legged on the floor and pressed the blue button.  _ Blue, red. Blue, red, blue. Blue, red, blue, green. _

“Mhm.” He held up a long package, and she took it from him and knelt beside him, pulling the paper off. Before she could get a proper look at it he said, “It’s chocolate swatches.”

She blinked, wide eyed, “Swatches? Like paint?”

“No, like - “ he sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose, “There’s twenty small blocks in there, all a different flavor. Chocolate caramel, sea salt, raspberry, hazelnut, espresso, things like that.”

Her eyes glittered as her smile widened with each word he said, “That sounds delicious! Thank you, Tsukishima.” She bowed her head to him in thanks and he positively blushed. “Do you want to share? Is there one you wanted to try?” She pulled the top off, taking the leaflet with information from the top and opening it to read it over. 

When Tsukishima didn’t say anything she smiled at him, “Wait, you like strawberries, don’t you? There’s one. Here,” digging through the box, pulling out a small pink wrapped one, “Let’s split this one.” 

Even as he protested, she broke the small bar in half and passed the bigger piece to him, nibbling on her own. He had no choice but to take it, and did so, taking a small bite himself. Then another as he smiled, “Ah. That is good.”

She grinned, “Isn’t it? These are wonderful!”

“Mhmm.”

“Yo!” Tanaka called, tugging on Ennoshita’s arm to get his attention, “Here, bro! Don’t kill me with it.”

Ennoshita raised a brow and grinned, taking the round package. “If this is a can of exploding snakes -”

“It’s not!”

“ _ Again.” _

“It’s not, jeez.”

Ennoshita gave him a  _ I dare you _ glance, then opened the can, holding it carefully away from his face. When nothing popped out at him he peeked inside. “What is it?”

“It’s a plant!” Tanaka was twisting at the cube, half paying attention to both things.

“…It’s a can.”

“No, bro,” Tanaka looked up, “It has seeds. You grow a chili pepper.”

Ennoshita snickered, “A chili pepper?” He pulled the seed packet out and blinked, “Tanaka these are  _ ghost chili’s _ .”

“What’s that?”

“It’s, like, one of the hottest peppers on the planet.”

“Oh, cool! Let me try it when you grow it, ok?”

Ennoshita’s eyes widened and he tried to force down his smile. “Uh, yeah. Sure, Tanaka.”

“Hey, Narita,” Daichi said, using an empty box as a shield against Suga’s continued onslaught of darts, “That’s yours, there.” He pointed to a long box beside where Daichi had been sitting a few minutes ago.

“Thanks, captain!” Narita smiled, “Don’t get shot.”

“Trying not to.” Daichi ducked, then shrieked as Suga leapt at him, and the two of them trundled off the stage and chased each other around the gymnasium, Noya and Tanaka joining in because, like puppies, they couldn’t not chase things moving at high speeds. 

Narita reached over and ripped the paper off the box, and smiled at the air hockey game inside. He was confused at first, didn’t one need air to play air hockey? But he saw that, instead of playing on a table, the puck itself was aerated. “Ennoshita, wanna play?” He held it up and Ennoshita grinned like a kid. 

“Oh, yeah! Looks fun.”

The Karasuno Volleyball Club spent the next few hours playing with their new toys, coloring things, watching and cheering on others as they made mini competitions out of Simon Says and off brand Mario Brothers. Every now and then, just when everyone thought they were safe, Suga would shoot someone in the chest with a tiny dart, then leap away with glee as Daichi chased after him, because it was usually Daichi who Suga shot. 

Takeda and Ukai sat on the sidelines, watching the kids. 

“They’re a mess,” Ukai said fondly, with a smile.

Takeda smiled too, looked like a proud parent, “They deserve a break.”

“Nationals is in a few weeks.”

Takeda shrugged, “All work and no play, y’know?”

Ukai chuckled, “You’re right, I suppose. Oh, senpai, here.” Ukai handed him an small plastic card, “It’s one of those Visa’s that you can spend anywhere. Your next drink’s on me.”

Takeda blushed, then laughed, “I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts, too. Come with me?”

Ukai nodded, “I hoped you’d say that.”

  
  
  



	6. ssssweaterssss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually some of my OC's... but it's all I could think of for sweaters. And I wanted to put it here just cause I realized I haven't updated this in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO this isn't HQ. I'm sorry. They're two of my OC's from a novel I'm writing. I've been really busy with LIFE so I'm not sure if I'll be able to write a fic every day like I wanted, but I promise there will EVENTUALLY be 24 (since one fic is in my Flightless Owl epilogue now) fics posted here. 
> 
> Characters:  
> Dalton: Californian, college football player, about 24 years old and basically... if the Fathers of America ever imagined a perfect specimen it would be him.   
> Lucas: Magician! He's from the Scottish Highlands and he's living in Los Angeles with his fiancé (Dalton). He has a companion pet that he pulled from his dreams, and it's his snake Hecate. 
> 
> Again. I'm sorry it's not Haikyuu, but I wanted to post it anyway.

“What’s this?” Lucas asked, poking at the little box his boyfriend had just handed him. It was wrapped in Lucas’s favorite moss green color of wrapping paper.

“It’s a Christmas present,” Dalton said, muting the football game on television and turning to face him, tucking one leg under his body, “For the baby.”

Lucas snorted, “She’s no’ a bairn.” He picked at the corner of the wrapping paper, peeling it back until it was straight, then working the other corners open so he could slide the box out into his hand. “Why did ye get her a gift, anyway? She’s a snake.”

“She loves me and I love her,” Dalton declared with a grin, sipping his eggnog spiked with bourbon.

Lucas shook his head, smiling. When he opened the box his smile became confused as he looked at the long knitted tube. “Wha’s this?”

Dalton beamed, leaning forward and taking it out of the box and holding it out like he was showing it off, it was long and wide, and woven with crimson and silver and green. “It’s a sweater!”

“N-no,” Lucas laughed, “It’s no.”

Dalton waved a hand, taking the little tube from his hands and running his fingers over the knitted wool, “Take her out, lemme put it on her.”

Lucas groaned, snorting in that Scottish way he knew annoyed Dalton, “Ach, no. She’s asleep.” He covered the little tattoo on his left wrist with his hand, hoping she would sit still on his skin.

“No she’s not!” Dalton laughed, pulling his hand away and tugging his wrist up to kiss the tattoo. “She’s moving around.”

“ _Saoghail_ ,” Lucas mumbled as Hecate began to lift herself from her place on his skin. The snake formed herself from ink, and Lucas felt the familiar tingling in his gut as she took life from him. Hecate emerged, milky white and crimson scales glittering as she moved, tongue flicking out as she sensed Dalton. Being his spirit animal, literally made from a piece of his soul, the two of them were connected mind, body, and soul, so she loved Dalton just as much as Lucas did.

Which meant that sometimes she preferred Dalton, and it irritated Lucas because sometimes he wanted to cuddle with Hecate and she would abandon him for Dalton. Irritated him in a loving way, of course.

Dalton reached for the serpent, let her curl around his fingers, and grinned as he ran his finger over her head. “There’s my good girl.”

Lucas grumbled, “She’s no a pup, either.”

“No, guess not.” Dalton handled Hecate with ease and care, having kept her for several months when Lucas had been recovering from an injury and traveling for work, so the two of them were quite close. Lucas watched, sipping his own drink - spiked bourbon eggnog without the eggnog - while he watched Dalton expertly slip the long ‘sweater’ on her. She did it willingly, which either meant she really didn’t mind (after all the pictures he’d received of her in tiny hats he wasn’t surprised) or Lucas wanted to see her in it just as much as Dalton did and she was picking up on that emotion. It was like a reverse shedding, her head inching bit by bit into the sweater until it poked out the other side and Dalton adjusted it on her so that it sat just under her head.

“There,” he beamed, “Isn’t she perfect?”

Lucas pursed his lips, trying to look like a stern parent, but damn if she didn’t look adorable in an actual little sweater. It didn’t seem to bother her either, as she looped herself around Dalton’s shoulders and sat contented against his warm skin, tongue flicking. “Aye,” he said after a moment, losing the battle with his face and laughing, “It’s a bonnie gift, thank you.” He leaned close and kissed his cheek, then stroked Hecate’s head with a finger. “I’m shocked she got into it so easy,” he admitted.

Dalton’s own mouth spread slowly, his eyes lighting up with amusement, “Well… we practiced.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and sat back, flicking his hand at them, “Of course you did!”


	7. cabin shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamasaki and Futakuchi in an old cabin as a snowstorm approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from anon!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Minor sexual innuendos.

They shivered together under a thick blanket, Futakuchi running his fingers over Kamasaki’s arm. Kamasaki hunkered low, shoulders drawn up to his ears, aggravated and upset. 

“It’s  _ cold, _ ” he mumbled, folding his arms over his chest. 

Futakuchi leaned over, dropping his voice to a sultry whisper, “We can keep each other warm.”

Kamasaki huffed, ignoring him, “If we die out here in the middle of nowhere I'm going to kill you.”

“Ouch, harsh,” Futakuchi grinned, rubbing his nose over Kamasaki’s cheek, “You’ll live. I’ll keep you warm.”

“No, don’t touch me.”

Futakuchi laughed, but pulled away so he could look Kamasaki fully in the face, “Aw, you’re not really mad are you?”

“You dragged us out here to this shitty, cold-ass cabin so we could ski and we don’t even have  _ skis. _ ”

Futakuchi raised an eyebrow, “You really thought I meant to bring you here to ski?”

Kamasaki jerked his head to glare at him, wincing as his stiff muscles protested the quick gesture, “You  _ said _ ,  _ Kama, lets go skiing _ so I thought we’d be skiing!”

“Ha!” Futakuchi actually snorted, leaning away and covering his face with his hand, “Oh my god. I brought you up here so we could  _ bone _ .” 

“It’s too damn cold,” Kamasaki grumbled, turning away and ducking his face into his sweater. 

“Psh,” Futakuchi stood, dumping his half of the blanket around Kamasaki, who pulled it around himself and snuggling down, “You’re a baby.” He moved to the small kitchenette and put on a pot for tea, rummaging through the cabinets. “Start a fire, that’s what the fireplace is there for.”

“Will it warm us up?”

Futakuchi turned around, unable to stop the derisive look that crept onto his face, “It’s  _ fire _ .”

“Oh, right,” Kamasaki mumbled, pulling the blankets around himself as he stood. “Uh, there’s no wood.”

“Not yet, you’re too cold, apparently.”

Kamasaki rolled his eyes, “There’s no logs for the fireplace.”

Futakuchi turned from the mugs he was spooning tea into, “Oh…they must have forgotten to bring some inside.”

“Ugh, no, I don’t want to go outside,” he groaned, miserable, “It’s too cold!” He trudged over to lay his head on Futakuchi’s shoulder with a painful  _ thunk _ . “Come with me?”

“Oh,” Futakuchi mumbled, “No, don’t make me go.” He leaned against Kamasaki’s chest, dropping his head back so he could turn his head and brush his lips over Kamasaki’s cheek. 

“If I have to suffer, you do too.” 

“You’re awful. I hate you.”

“I hate you too for dragging us up here for Christmas. I thought this would be like a big resort thing, we’d ski during the day, all that adrenaline in our bodies,” Kamasaki kissed the curve of Futakuchi’s throat, “We’d eat dinner by a nice warm fire, soak in a nice hot tub together, go to bed with big comforters and downy pillows.”

Futakuchi hummed at the attention to his neck, shivering, and not from cold. “I’m sorry… but we can at least have a fire.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“UGH, fine.”

“There’s a good boy.”

When Kamasaki opened the door they both let out a miserable moan. Snow fell in fat white flakes, their footprints had vanished completely from half an hour ago when they had come in. “Come on,” Futakuchi sighed, stepping outside, “It won’t take long if we hurry.”

They shuffled outside, Kamasaki firmly closing the door to make sure the heat that was in the cabin didn’t seep out. Clinging to the rail on the way down, having to trudge through a foot of snow to get to the little wood shed that protected the logs from the elements. They each grabbed several, Futakuchi complaining about splinters the entire walk back. 

He kicked at the door to open it. 

But it didn’t budge. 

Futakuchi glared at it, “Yasushi….” His voice came out tight, “Why won’t the door open.”

“Uhm.”

He whipped is his head around, glaring, “Why. Won’t. The. Door. Open?”

“I …”

Futakuchi threw his armful of logs to the side and kicked hard at the door, then grabbed the handle and jiggled it, but to no avail. He glared at Kamasaki, “You locked us out!!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You moron!”

“Hey, don’t blame me, you’re the one-”

Futakuchi shoved his finger in his face, “I blame you!” He threw his arms to the sides, huffing, stomping off across the porch, then screaming as the snow bunched under his boot wrong and he fell flat on his back. He glared upside down at Kamasaki as he laughed his high, screeching laugh. 

“Ah-haha! Serves you right!”

“Bastard,” Futakuchi sat up, shaking snow from his collar and shivering, “Help me up, let’s check all the windows.”

They walked the small wrap around porch, tugging at windows and pushing their shoulders against the back door. Nothing opened. “Damn it,” Futakuchi snarled, kicking the door again for good measure, “Now we  _ will _ freeze to death.”

Kamasaki frowned, rubbing his chin with his hand, “We could build an igloo.”

“Fuck you.”

“Can’t we break a window?”

Futakuchi sighed, frustrated, debating if it would be worth it to upset his mother’s, cousin’s, brother’s fiancèe who owned the cabin. “I don’t know. It would just let in more cold air.”

“But we could have a fire by then.”

“I’d also have to pay for it.”

“Hm…”

Futakuchi stomped down the stairs, remembering that there was a cellar, and maybe an entrance to it. Kamasaki followed him, brushing snow off his back as they shuffled around to the side of the cabin. There wasn’t a cellar but there was a window they hadn’t seen. 

“Look,” Futakuchi pointed high up, to the small open window at the attic, “That’s why it’s so cold inside. And it’s our way back in.”

“It’s so high…”

“You can give me a boost.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“You’re too fat to fit through the - ouch!”

Kamasaki glared, shaking his hand after punching Futakuchi’s arm - it was too cold for such abrasive behavior. “Fine, come on.” 

They moved under the window and Kamasaki leaned against the wall, bracing his hands together and Futakuchi placed his foot in his fingers, Kamasaki grimacing at the cold. “Don’t drop me,” Futakuchi said, hands on his shoulders.

“I won’t, just hurry.” And he pushed upwards, Futakuchi reaching upwards, straining for the window.

“Higher?”

“You’re heavy…”

Futakuchi wanted to kick him, “Come on, just a bit.” 

With a grunt, Kamasaki managed to raise him a bit higher, so that Futakuchi could slip his fingers around the frozen edge of the window. It hurt, his fingers were so cold, why hadn’t he worn his gloves? He hauled himself upwards, helped by Kamasaki supporting his feet, and managed to shimmy into the window. His chest caught on the edge and he moaned in pain. The edge cut into his skin, the entire weight of his body on one tiny edge. He squirmed, clawing at the floorboards of the loft, kicking his legs, trying to push himself inside. 

He was stuck. 

“ _ Goddammit _ .”

“You okay?” Kamasaki called from below, and Futakuchi’s face heated with embarrassment as he heard laughter in his tone. 

He ignored him, pushing hard, like the seals they did in practice, then yelped with something hard and cold hit his leg. He screamed over his shoulder, “Hit me with a snowball one more time, asshole, I’ll leave you outside!”

More snow pelted his legs and Futakuchi grumbled, scrabbling like an animal stuck in a trap. The window was too small, he could barely fit, but finally he lay spread on the floor of the loft, panting, bruises probably blooming on his chest and stomach and thighs. His breath fogged in the air and he pressed a hand to his chest, wincing, hearing the steaming kettle screaming on the stove.

“Let me in!”

Futakuchi groaned, rolling to his feet and limping down the tiny ladder to the front door. He yelled out, without opening it, “Do you have the logs?”

“Let me in.”

“Logs first!”

“You’re not locking me out of the cabin, Kenji.”

Futakuchi shivered, he liked it when he used his given name, since he usually reserved it for intimate moments. He peeked out the door, grinning, “One log for one kiss?”

Kamasaki had a bundle of logs in his arms and he raised his eyebrows with a smirk, “What can I get with all this?”

“Come in and find out.”


	8. jingle all the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bokuto learns a new Christmas carol and can't stop singing it.

Bokuto hummed to himself. All day. Every day. The same song, over and over again. 

“Would you shut the  _ fuck _ up?!” Kuroo shouted, turning to him on the couch and flailing his arms. 

Bokuto blinked at him, shrinking away, “You don’t like Jingle Bells?”

“Not when you sing it day in and day out!”

“It’s the best Christmas song, though.”

Kuroo threw his controller down, standing and stomping off, vanishing into his bedroom. 

#

At dinner, the four friends sat around the table, eating while Akaashi told them about his photography class. Mid sentence, Akaashi stopped and turned to scowl at Bokuto beside him, “Bokuto-san,  _ please _ .”

“What?”

“You’re humming again.”

“Oh. Sorry, Keiji!” Bokuto stuffed his mouth with rice, and everyone scowled as the echoing notes of the song lingered in the air.

#

The sound of volleyballs bouncing off the gymnasium floor echoed around them. “Woo!” Bokuto shouted, giddy, bouncing on his toes after a spike, “Kozume-kun, that was great! Do it again?”

Kenma sighed, “I’d rather not.”

“But… Keiji isn’t here to set for me.”

“I’m not even playing anymore.”

“But me and your boyfriend are, don’t you want us to win our games? College tournaments are hard.”

Kenma looked away, slumping a bit as Bokuto came over and threw his big arm over his shoulders. “Don’t you have a whole team to practice with?”

“Yeah, but what about the practice after the practice?”

Kenma sighed, “You exhaust me.” He ducked from under Bokuto’s arm, and as he walked off the court Bokuto was forced to follow him since he had no one else to practice with. 

He spun a volleyball on his finger, tossing it back and forth as he began to sing under his breath, “Dashing through the snow, in a one horse -”

“Shut up.”

Bokuto sighed, and resorted to humming again. Kenma managed to put up with it for longer than any of the others, but still after five minutes he stopped in his tracks and narrows his eyes at the taller man. “If you keep singing that you’re getting that volleyball to _your_ jingle balls, do you understand?”

Bokuto laughed, but took a step back, holding his volleyball over his crotch, “Sorry.”

Kenma snorted, then turned on his heel and stalked off.

#

As the week went on Bokuto tried really hard to stop singing Jingle Bells. He really did his best. 

But he wasn’t very good at controlling himself. Kuroo threw a book at him midway through the week, missing completely and smashing the large mirror that hung on the wall. Akaashi tried to smother him in his sleep with a pillow, telling him it was for the betterment of the community. Kenma glared at him and took to carrying around a volleyball to threateningly hold up as if he were going to throw it at Bokuto. 

Kuroo mistook this gesture as interest in the sport, though, and Kenma resorted to glaring at Bokuto with all the fiery passion he was capable of. 

One evening Bokuto was invited to go caroling, and dragged a reluctant Kuroo along. As they walked down the street with the small crowd of carolers Kuroo grumbled, “I hate singing.”

“But you’ve got that baritone we’re missing!” Bokuto grinned, slipping his arm around Kuroo’s and pulling him along. 

Kuroo sighed, “I’m not singing  _ that _ song.”

“It’s in the lineup, though.” 

“Ugh… please don’t make me.”

“There’s hot chocolate in it for you afterwards.”

So they went house to house with their group, singing Christmas carols, Kuroo hating every second of the seventeen times they sang Jingle Bells. 

As they walked home, disposable cups of creamy hot chocolate in their hands, Bokuto said, his voice a bit raspy from singing so long, “I think I got it out of my system.”

“What?”

“The Jingle Bells song, we sang it a bunch.”

“Thank god,” Kuroo laughed. 

#

In the morning, as the four of them ate breakfast Bokuto began to hum again. It took the other three several long moments to figure out the tune, then Kuroo dropped his head to the table with a loud  _ thunk _ .

“Please stop,” Kenma said, pressing his hands to his face. 

Akaashi scowled at him, “What song is that?”

Bokuto’s smile spread slowly over his face, “Carol of the Bells.”


	9. bells, bells, bells, bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II of Bokuto learning Christmas carols

Akaashi hid himself under the blankets, moaning in pain. “Bokuto,  _ stop _ .”

Bokuto hummed the last few notes and sat up, leaning over Akaashi and touching his nose to the lump that was Akaashi’s shoulder. “You love my singing.”

“I hate that song.”

“It’s my favorite song.”

“It’s your favorite this week. Last week it was jingle bells. What’s next week? Can we skip this week?” Akaashi poked his face out from the blanket and raised a questioning eyebrow. 

Bokuto lay his body down, forcing Akaashi to shift so that his shoulder wasn’t crushed. “I’ll try to control myself,” Bokuto said, but his smile was wide and childlike. 

Akaashi narrowed his eyes, “No you won’t, you ass.”

Bokuto only laughed, and tugged the blanket down to kiss him. 

#

Kuroo was playing a video game when he heard something… odd behind him. He felt the presence behind him, and tried to ignore it. He could see Bokuto in the reflection of the television, poking his head out from behind the doorway. 

“Bells, bells, bells, bells…”

Kuroo squeezed the controller. 

“Bells, bells, bells, bells…” Bokuto moved closer, sneaking.

Kuroo killed someone on screen by smashing his gun into his face. 

“Bells, bells, bells, bells…” He was just behind the couch now.

He ducked behind a building, reloading his gun, pulling out a grenade. 

“Bells, bells, bells, bells…” He crouched low, the giggle in his voice making the words shake. 

Kuroo inhaled slowly, “I swear to god, Bo-”

Bokuto popped up from behind Kuroo, screaming at the top of his lungs, “BELLS, BELLS, BELLS, BELLS!!”

Kuroo started, shouting in surprise, his character was shot on screen and the death screen bled it’s way across the map. He whipped around, glaring at Bokuto and smashing a pillow into his face to knock him to the ground. 

#

The only class that Akaashi and Bokuto shared was a history requirement. Neither of them needed the knowledge, not really, but it was interesting to have a class together. It wasn’t interesting when, during a quiz, Bokuto was humming under his breath. 

Beside him, Akaashi glared over, mouthing,  _ stop that _ .

Bokuto blinked, then made an  _ oops _ face and ducked his head, pencil scribbling, his free hand scrubbing through his spiky hair. 

Akaashi watched him a moment, then went back to his quiz. It wasn’t hard, but it was a bunch of numbers: years, ages, dates, the sorts of things that Bokuto was bad at memorizing. He wondered if Bokuto was struggling. Glancing over, he saw that Bokuto was clutching at his hair, his pencil between his teeth. 

He felt bad, they had tried studying but Bokuto wouldn’t stop singing that damn song so Akaashi had refused to help him anymore and left him to his own devices. It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if Bokuto actually knew the words, but all he knew was the tune and would sing the word bells to the tune until it was unfathomably annoying. 

The teacher called two minutes until they had to turn their paper. 

Akaashi scratched his last answers down, then stood and took his paper to the front, handing it to the teacher as he shouldered his bag. He glanced back at Bokuto as he left the room, hoped he would do well on his test and promising himself he would make it up to Bokuto -

If he would stop singing that damn song. 

#

The library was supposed to be a quiet place to study. Tonight, it was not. It was just past midnight, Bokuto and Kuroo sat at their study booth in the corner of the darkened library, the only light the small golden glow of the table lamp. 

“Do you hear that?” Kuroo whispered, leaning his cheek on his hand. 

“Mhm-hmm, sounds hot,” Bokuto said back, “They sound like they’re having fun.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“Only because Kenma hasn’t put out for you.”

“Shut up, we’re not bunnies like you and Akaashi.”

“We’re owls, thank you very much.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, just as a loud moan raised from the stacks. “God, I can’t study math like this.”

“I can take care of it,” Bokuto grinned, standing, then slinking off and disappearing into the stacks. 

Kuroo sat listening, waiting. He heard the familiar tune and his own frustration level rose just hearing it. But he couldn’t imagine the hell that was in for the couple having sex somewhere in the library.

Bokuto might be large, but he was light on his feet. He tiptoed towards the sounds coming from the couple, muttering under his breath, then pressing his mouth shut. As he approached, he heard the man whisper things that should only be heard in a pornographic film, and was disappointed in his gender as a whole. 

So, as he came upon the couple, he could see their twisted bodies moving together. He ducked around the shelf, then burst out, leaping into the center of the aisle and throwing his arms wide and screaming, “BELLS, BELLS, BELLS, BELLS!”

The woman shrieked and the man stepped away so swiftly the woman fell off the table she was on and he smacked into the shelf behind him and several books came raining down and thumping him on the head. “Shit!” he groaned, grabbing his pants and tugging them up. He turned and bolted away from a laughing Bokuto, leaving his partner to struggle to her feet and stumble after him, screaming about what a bastard he was. 

Bokuto giggled, sauntering away and back to Kuroo. “That was so fun,” he plopped into his chair.

“Who was it?”

“That dude who sits in the back of my science class and the teachers aid.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Kuroo laughed. 

“Yeah, I wish I hadn’t seen his dick, though.” Bokuto made a disgusted face, “Not pretty.”

Kuroo grinned, “Dude, you’re disgusting. Come on, I’m supposed to be helping you study. You’ve got a test tomorrow.”

They settled down to the papers, Kuroo giving him a practice problem to work on. He closed his eyes, waiting for Bokuto to finish it. After a time, he opened his eyes, “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

Bokuto raised his eyes, chewing on his lip, “Mhm?”

“You’re not singing that stupid song.”

“Oh,” Bokuto blinked, then chuckled, “Guess I got it out of my system.”

“Thank god.”

Bokuto turned his paper towards Kuroo, “Did I get this one right?”

Kuroo looked it over, “Actually, yes. I’m impressed.”

“Hm… I guess the songs were distracting.”

“No  _ shit _ , dude.”


	10. snowfall and sniffles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi is sick and Bo takes care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on tumblr prompt for fluffy BokuAka.

“Do you know where Akaashi is?” Bokuto asked Konoha during morning practice. 

Konoha tossed the volleyball up and caught it again. “No, actually. He’s never been late before.”

Bokuto hummed, looking around at the gym, “No…” He was worried, Akaashi had not only never been late, but he had never missed a practice. He worried so much over Akaashi’s absence, he couldn’t serve or spike properly in practice, and nothing anyone said made it better because none of them were Akaashi. 

In the club room after practice he told Konoha and Saru, “I’m going to go check on Akaashi.”

Saru frowned, “You can’t get to his house and back in time for class.”

“I’m skipping class,” he pulled on his big winter jacket, zipping it up against the snow that fell outside. 

Konoha laughed, “You can’t afford to do that. You’re practically failing. The only reason the VP hasn’t kicked you out of the club is because you’re the captain and he wants us to win Nationals.”

Bokuto scowled at him, “I can’t sit in class all day worrying about him,” he went to the door, “Cover for me!” and he ducked out, bounding down the stairs. 

Saru and Konoha exchanged looks. “We don’t even share a class with him,” Saru mumbled.

Bokuto jogged all the way to Akaashi’s house. The cold air burned his throat and nose but he didn’t let it slow him down. At the house he knocked, panting, watching his breath fog in the air. He knocked again, pressed his face to the tiny window beside the door but saw the lights were off. Out of habit, he checked the door, and, to his surprise, it opened.

He stepped inside, calling out, “Hello? Auntie? Akaashi?”

No one answered, but the house didn’t feel empty. “Akaashi?” he called again, kicking off his shoes in the entryway and moving into the house. He poked his head into the kitchen, saw dishes left over in the sink from one person trying and failing to eat breakfast. He slipped down the hallway towards Akaashi’s room, just to check, and found him curled up under a large duvet on his bed. 

“Akaashi, hey, why are you still sleeping?” Bokuto moved over, dropping his bag and leaning over, then paused and frowned when he saw Akaashi’s head. His black hair was messy and sticky, his skin pale with the shine of sweat. Bokuto reached down and touched his cheek, then gasped at the heat of his skin. 

Akaashi moaned softly, his eyes scrunching up as he buried himself deeper in his blankets. 

“You’re burning up,” Bokuto said, gently now, worry bubbling up in his chest. This was his fault. Dammit, he’d made Akaashi sick. On their way home last night he had picked up a handful of snow and dumped it down Akaashi’s shirt, because he knew Akaashi would retaliate, and they frolicked, chasing each other with snowballs until they fell into a large pile of snow, lips pressed together and Akaashi’s chilled fingers finding their way under Bokuto’s shirt. 

Now, Akaashi had a cold. And it was his fault. 

“Don’t worry,” he told Akaashi, “Can you sit up? Have you drank anything? Eaten breakfast?”

Akaashi mumbled, his eyes barely opening, “Bo…san… you’re here…?” He turned his face, and Bokuto saw the flush of his cheeks. 

“I was worried about you.” Bokuto touched his forehead, “I’m gonna make you better, ok?”

“You should be in class,” Akaashi managed to say, voice cracking from disuse. 

Bokuto pulled the blanket up, patted his shoulder, “I’m gonna get you some water. Be right back.”

He left the room, rummaged around the kitchen for a glass of water and set the rice maker and the kettle to working. He was determined to make Akaashi better if it was the last thing he did. Back in the bedroom he found Akaashi sitting halfway up, shivering. 

“Here, drink some water,” he held it out, but Akaashi shook his head, “You need hydration.”

“…too cold.” Akaashi tugged his blanket around his shoulders. 

Bokuto sighed and set the water on the bedside table. “I’ve got water on for tea.”

“Thank you.”

Bokuto twitched, wringing his hands, “I’m sorry…for getting you sick.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, it is,” He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out and taking Akaashi’s hand to squeeze it, “But I’ll make you all better.”

“Let’s just start with tea,” Akaashi smiled, then pulled his hand away to keep his blanket close around his shoulders. 

Bokuto made him ginger tea, pushed it into his shaking hands and helped him drink it. He covered Akaashi’s hair with a cold compress to fight his rising temperature. Bokuto gave him okayu, rice porridge, with a runny egg and pickled plums he found in the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Akaashi said as he ate, “This is good.”

“It’s not hard,” Bokuto smiled, sitting on the other side of the bed. Akaashi had forced him to put a mask on, and it itched his nose, but he resisted the urge to scratch it. 

“Eggs are hard,” Akaashi laughed softly, pushing the runny yolk around in the rice, “And you make them well.”

Bokuto thought a moment, “Well I really like eggs. They’re good protein. So I wanted to be able to make them a lot.”

“Of course that’s the reason. You’re silly.”

Bokuto smiled, “But you like it? And the medicine is helping?”

“I think so. I feel much better.”

Bokuto reached up, touching the back of his knuckles to Akaashi’s cheek, “Your fever’s broken. That’s a good sign.”

Akaashi leaned his cheek into Bokuto’s hand. “You should go to class. I’ll be alright.”

“No way. What if you need me? Besides it’s already almost noon. One day won’t make a difference.”

Akaashi sighed, and let his face lean against Bokuto’s hand, closing his eyes. “I’m worried about your studies…” 

“Then help me study later, okay? When you feel better. I’ve got that math test coming up.”

“It’s easy, you just have to focus…” Akaashi said gently. He opened his eyes when Bokuto reached with his free hand to take the bowl from him.

“Later,” Bokuto said softly, “You should sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy,” But his voice was soft and gentle, his eyelids fluttering when Bokuto took his hand away.

“Of course you are,” Bokuto chuckled, setting aside the bowl, “Where’s your laptop? We can watch a movie.”

They curled up together, Akaashi leaning on Bokuto’s chest as they streamed Akaashi’s favorite film online. Bokuto kept his arm around him, holding him close and laying his cheek against his hair. It wasn’t damp anymore, but the lingering scent of sour sweat lingered. Bokuto wondered just how much in love he had to be for him to find that scent pleasant instead of sour. He closed his eyes and inhaled, rubbing his hand over Akaashi’s shoulder. 

“Mhm….” Akaashi mumbled, half asleep, “‘m glad you’re here, Kou…”

Bokuto smiled to himself, tugging him closer and settling down more comfortably. “Go to sleep now, Keiji, you’ll feel better after a long sleep.”

“Feel better ‘cause you’re here…” Akaashi turned his face into Bokuto’s chest, setting down to sleep. 


	11. a candlelit feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> KurooTsukki prompt: roommates alone on Christmas

Kuroo stood at the window, frowning. In the background, the radio hummed along, the reporter’s voice frantic and slightly awed, “These record snowfalls haven’t been seen in the city since 1951! Dozens of traffic accidents and stalled train lines have practically rendered the city immobile. And while it looks beautiful, the danger is obvious. Please do not leave the safety of your home while city officials work to clear the streets. Be advised, snow continues to fall, adding to the already record breaking thirty five centimeters….”

She droned on, repeating what she’d been saying all morning with a slightly different word choice. It essentially boiled down to this: Tokyo, and many other parts of central Japan, were experiencing the heaviest snowfall since 1951, record breaking waves that fell across the city, beautiful and deadly. It had been snowing non-stop for days, and the hard packed ice underneath the fresh fluffy snow made travel even more dangerous. 

Kuroo sighed again, his breath fogging up the window, and clicked off the radio in frustration. He left the solitude of his room and ventured into the shared living space of his apartment. “Tsukki?”

Tsukishima stood in the living room, one arm folded over his chest, the remote control in his hand pointed at the television. “Have you seen?”

“I’ve heard,” Kuroo said, coming to stand near him in front of the television and frown at the images. Reporters spoke from snow filled street corners, images flashed across the corner of people’s home video: children jumping and vanishing into walls of snow, villages of snow people being built, frozen fountains glittering in the sunlight. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.” Tsukishima scowled, his hand tightening around the remote, “They’ve closed down all the trains. Cab’s won’t run.”

“It’s dangerous to travel.”

“My mother is distraught,” Tsukishima sighed, “and my brother is trying to find a way to come and get me, no matter how much I tell him to stop.”

Kuroo laughed softly, “Akiteru is one crazy bastard.”

“What about your family?” Tsukishima clicked through the news channels, but what he was looking for, Kuroo didn’t know. A sign that this would be over soon?

“Oh, my parents are upset. My sister is sad. Aunts and uncles distressed at the thought of poor old me, alone on Christmas. Et cetera, et cetera.”

They stood in silence for a moment, contemplating the idea: stuck in the apartment with each other on Christmas Eve, unable to reach their families. It wasn’t the best prospect, especially since they’ve been fighting for weeks now. They would probably have moved out as soon as they broke up three months ago, if not for their lease on the apartment and the fact that neither of them could afford the place alone. 

Kuroo wasn’t happy about the break up, the constant bickering, or being stuck in the same apartment for the foreseeable future. They had barely been in the same room since the breakup, and it seemed like a bad time to rehash the old wounds. 

The lights flickered, hummed as they tried to stay alive, then died in a flash of over exaggerated death throes as darkness descended. They were both quiet for a heartbeat then said in the same breath, but with wildly different tones, “ _ Goddammit _ ,” Kuroo exasperated and Tsukishima pissed off.

They looked at each other, and Kuroo laughed, nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll get some candles.”

“Don’t bother,” Tsukishima snapped, tossing the remote down with more force than was necessary, “It’s daylight, we can keep the curtains open.” He turned away, going to the window to look down at the street several floors below. 

Kuroo opened his mouth to protest, then simply turned away, going into his room to get blankets and the small portable heater he kept near his bed. It was battery powered, and he had tons of extra batteries, so at least they wouldn’t freeze as the temperature dropped if the heater didn’t come back on. “Go get the blankets from your bed,” Kuroo ordered, trying to put on his best captains voice from high school, the kind that made Kenma do extra practice and Lev stop acting like a damn fool. 

Tsukishima turned from the window and frowned at him, “For what?”

“Just do it.”

He glared, Kuroo glared back, then sniffed in frustration as Tsukishima disappeared down the hall. “Brat,” he muttered as he folded his big blankets onto the couch. 

An hour later, nothing else having passed between them, Tsukishima looked up from his book and said, “Do we have any food?”

“I don’t know -”

“It was  _ your _ turn to go grocery shopping -”

“I didn’t need to since we’d be gone for the weekend.”

“And look how that turned out.”

With venom in his voice, Kuroo snarled, “Oh shut up, Kei.”

Tsukishima’s sharp eyes turned hostile and he lowered his head, going back to his book. But his eyes didn’t move across the page so Kuroo knew he wasn’t reading.

“Fuck it,” Kuroo snapped, standing, dropping his blankets and stomping over to the door to shove his socked feet into his winter boots. 

“Where are you going?” Tsukishima asked, voice tense. 

“To get the princess his groceries,” Kuroo said derisively, yanking his jacket from the hook and shoving his arms into it, then doing the same for the large red parka for good measure. That one had a hood that could protect his ears. 

“You can’t go out in this!”

“Watch me.” He tugged a scarf off the hook, and paused. It was the scarf Tsukishima had given him last Christmas. He’d called him Kei then. 

Tsukishima saw it too as he came to stand beside Kuroo. “It’s dangerous.”

“To drive,” Kuroo said, replaced the scarf on the hook, and swept from the apartment, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame. He dug gloves from his pockets and pushed his fingers into them, already shivering as he stomped (carefully) down the stairs. 

He was going to the little convenience store down the street. It wasn’t far, and the old man that ran it lived above it and he’d been known to keep the shop open during a tsunami, so a snow storm was surely nothing to him. It also allowed Kuroo to get out of the apartment. Just getting out had undone some knot in his chest, allowing him to suck in frozen air into his lungs as if the first breath he’d taken all morning. He pulled the hood up over his head, already feeling snow melting in his hair. 

Halfway down the street he heard a shout, “Hey!”

But he ignored it, trudged on, the snow rising like a solid wall on either side of him. 

“Kuroo!”

Not stopping, not turning around. 

“Tetsu!”

Kuroo stopped in his tracks, his foot halfway through a step. He turned as Tsukishima came to a halt beside him, then blinked in surprise as he shoved the hood off his head. Cold air whipped around them, and Tsukishima expertly whipped the scarf three times around his throat, shoved it into his jacket, zipped it up, and yanked the hood back up. 

“Idiot,” Tsukishima snapped, stalking off toward the convenience store, hands shoved in his pockets. He’d put on three jackets himself, and wore the matching hat, scarf, and mitten set that Kuroo had had made for him. 

Kuroo scowled at his back until Tsukishima turned and called, “Hurry up.”

At the store the old man scowled at them as the placed their items on the counter. “You boys shouldn’t be here.” The store was out of power, too, but luckily what they came for didn’t require refrigeration. The store was cold, but by the counter it was slightly warmer because the old man had portable heater, too, and had it cranked to high 

Tsukishima was pulling out his wallet, “You don’t want our business?” He didn’t say it rudely, but very straightforward.

The old man squinted, then began scanning and ringing their cans. “Don’t you know what’s going on out there? Power grid’s down.”

“We know,” Kuroo told him, “We walked here, we don’t live far.”

“I know who you are,” the man snapped, “I know where you live. Doesn’t mean you should be out in this. It’s dangerous. Take these and go home. Stay home.”

The two young men nodded sagely, accepting the advice from their elder. They came here nearly every day, three months ago they came together, now they made sure to stagger their arrival and departures, and they knew the old man well enough to be pleasant and friendly with him. 

“Thank you,” Kuroo said, taking the bags and putting his own wallet away, “Stay safe.”

“Go home,” the old man reiterated. 

On the walk home they said nothing to each other, steps in synch as they kept their heads ducked against the wind. At the apartment, they set their haul on the counter and contemplated it. 

“Not much of a meal, is it?” Kuroo declared.

“It might have been better if -”

“Fuck off, there’s no power. We couldn’t have cooked anything even if I had gone shopping.”

Tsukishima pressed his mouth shut, looking away. “I’m not hungry,” he spat out, then stomped off to his room, slamming the door. 

Kuroo sighed, shivering in the leftover cold of outside, and curling up on the couch under his blankets, turning on the heater and setting it as close as he dared. He reached over and picked up the book Tsukishima had been reading, it was a book of poetry, what a dork. Kuroo opened it to a random page and settled down to read. 

Several hours later, Kuroo was shaken awake by a hand on his shoulder. He started, sitting up quickly and rubbing his eyes, “What time is it?”

“Late,” Tsukishima said. He’d changed into his warmest pajamas and had his old high school sweatshirt on over the fleece, “Come on, let’s eat.”

Kuroo yawned, trembling with cold as he shucked the blankets warmed by his body. “You let me sleep all day.”

“Seemed like a better alternative to sitting around being bored.” After lighting a few candles and setting them on the coffee table, Tsukishima went to the kitchen and picked through the canned food they’d bought. “I wish we could at least heat it up.”

Kuroo nodded, leaning over the counter and plucking a can of bread from the pile, “It’s emergency rations, it’s not supposed to be heated.”

“Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be better if it was.”

“True. Here, grab it all up, get some utensils, let’s eat on the couch,” Kuroo said, picking up a bunch of cans and piling them in his arms.

“I don’t think -” 

“I know you don’t like it, but it’s fucking cold in here, and I’m eating under the blankets. I’m taking the food with me whether you like it or not.”

Tsukishima gave him a level, annoyed stare. “I paid for half of it.”

“If you want to eat your half shivering over the sink, be my guest.” Kuroo went back to his nest of blankets, still slightly warmed from his body heat, and tucked himself into them, pulling the duvet over his shoulders. He waited, watching Tsukishima’s internal struggle at the counter until he came over, bringing a small folding table, the trash can, two bottles of water, a handful of small bowls, and utensils. He slid on the other end of the couch, bringing the rest of the blankets and spreading them out to expand their nest. 

Kuroo opened one of the cans and sniffed it, “Hey, it doesn’t smell that bad.”

Tsukishima shrugged, “The canned food industry has stepped up it’s game recently, from what I read.”

“Mhm, still.”

They spent a few minutes in silence making a small buffet for themselves, dumping canned foods into bowls: chicken with various sauces, tuna, mackerel, rice with sauce, curries, lots of small diced vegetables, and even canned bread. By the end, it looked almost like a real meal. 

Together they muttered, almost grudgingly, “ Itadakimasu.” They ate in silence, both staring out the window at the still falling snow. They hadn’t been in the same room for this long in months… and Kuroo was saddened by it. They had broken up over … nothing. Something silly. Honestly, he didn’t even remember the instigating incident. But it had ended when Tsukishima had said they simply weren’t compatible and, in a fit of anger, Kuroo had agreed. 

If he hadn’t said that then maybe they would have worked it out. People squabbled, didn’t they? It didn’t mean they didn’t love each other. 

“Hey,” Tsukishima said into the silence, pulling Kuroo from his thoughts, “Merry Christmas.”

Kuroo blinked, glancing at the clock on the wall. He had originally thought the old analog clock was stupid when Tsukishima brought it home. But he was grateful for it now that their phones were dead and all digital clocks were useless. It was midnight. Christmas was upon them. 

“Ah…” he felt the catch in his throat, threatening to become something more, “You too.” He looked down, hand clenching around his bowl, swallowing emotion instead of food for several long minutes. 

“Tetsu…” Tsukishima said gently, making Kuroo raise his eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Kuroo blinked, stunned. “It wasn’t your-”

“Every fight has two people not making it better.”

Kuroo sighed, setting down his bowl and rubbing his hands across his pants, “You’ve nothing to apologize for… I was the one that instigated it.” Probably, anyway. What did it matter, really?

Tsukishima watched him, head cocked just a bit as he thought, eyebrows pinching together. “Do you think… we could try again?”

Kuroo inhaled slowly, looking up into his lovely, intelligent golden brown eyes, lit by the yellow pool of light from the candles. He’d seen those eyes up close, enough to see the flecks of amber in them, seen them red from crying, or alight with determination, warmed with arousal when they’d slept in the same bed. He missed them. Missed Kei. Missed everything about their life together. But, still, he said: “I don’t know.”

The hurt in Kei’s eyes stabbed straight through Kuroo’s heart and made his next breath  _ painful. _

“I just,” Kuroo continued, trying to keep his voice cool, “We did nothing but fight.”

“And we aren’t fighting now?” It was sarcasm. 

“That’s not… I mean… “

“We just need to talk to each other.”

“Says the boy who sulks in his room when he doesn’t get his way.”

Kei kicked him, not hard, but enough to displace the tray of food between them so they both jumped and grabbed it before it fell off the couch and stained the carpet. Their hands touched, skin cold from lack of heat, but heating as their fingers remembered each other. Kuroo sighed, taking the tray away and setting it in the floor beside them. He hoped he remembered it was there when he went to get up and didn’t put his foot directly in curry sauce. 

“Come here,” he said, tugging the blankets up around his head and opening his arms.

Kei frowned at him, confused, but moved forward, tucking himself into the comfortable space of Kuroo’s chest, closing his eyes as Kuroo’s arms came around him, enfolding them in blankets. Kei kicked his feet, flipping blankets over their legs, until they were cocooned in each other. 

“Read to me,” Kuroo said against Kei’s hair, inhaling the soft scent of his shampoo.

Kei sat still for a few moments, “What are we going to do?”

Kuroo rubbed his cheek against Kei’s head, then kissed his forehead as Kei tilted his face up, “We’re going to spend Christmas together. After that… I don’t know. We can figure it out later, though. Let’s not fight.”

Kei nodded, then reached his long arm over to the coffee table and picked up the book of poems, settling against his chest and opening it. He paused, “You lost my bookmark.”

“Sorry,” Kuroo chuckled, hooking his fingers around Kei’s waist, liking the weight of him, their bodies warming each other even as cold and dark seeped in through the window panes, threatening to overwhelm the light of the candles.

“It’s fine,” Kei mumbled, flipping to a page and clearing his throat,  “ _ The sun and the moon are eternal voyagers _ ,” he began, his voice sweet and slow, the lilt of the poem warm on his tongue, “ _ the years that come and go are travelers too _ .”

Kuroo closed his eyes, holding him, letting his voice wash over him, happy for the first time in months. The remnants of their canned Christmas Eve dinner scattered below, but Kuroo thought that maybe they could make a tradition of it, maybe they could even order the best kinds online and make it a proper feast. The future was uncertain but… maybe, if they tried, they could spend it together. 


End file.
